


Revelations

by zaphodsgirl



Series: Forgive Me, Father [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, M/M, Pining Castiel, Priest Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 07:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Castiel is afraid that what Dean wants is to confront him about his obvious, but highly inappropriate, feelings.





	Revelations

Father Novak feels the slip of paper he has been carrying on his person all week as though it's a hot coal against his flesh wherever it sits: sometimes in a pants pocket, radiating warmth into the muscle of his upper thigh, other times in his shirtfront, where he can feel the pulse of his own heart reaching out for clarity of its message.

_Father, I want to speak to you about something, but I don't feel comfortable doing it in the confessional._

_Would you come to my house some evening?_

_Please, Castiel._

He's been contemplating those words since he discovered them in the bible Dean had pressed into his hands a month ago for his birthday, a pedestrian copy of the good book that he'd rebound with leather worked by his own hands, something common that he'd made precious through industry. Castiel has gone over that moment again and again in his mind, trying to discern what Dean had been thinking at the time. He'd looked nervous, face flushed red and eyes bright with what could be excitement or embarrassment. Castiel reads the note again and again, worrying now over the contents, that pleading message scrawled over an address on the edge of town.

He feels certain that Dean has determined that Castiel does not view him with the same lens he turns to the rest of his flock, but he's not certain if Dean is pleased or discomfited by it. It's possible he wants to tell Castiel that he doesn't return his obvious affection, but doesn't want to pollute the sanctity of the confessional with that discussion, perhaps unsure how Castiel will act in return. A large part of him tries to imagine this is what Dean wants to say, because he feels it's the most likely outcome. What could a man like Dean feel for someone like Castiel, a man of the cloth, a vessel of the Lord?

He's also not ignorant of the fact that Dean has only ever kept company with women, and perhaps he wants to let Castiel know that he appreciates their friendship, but it can only ever be _friendship_. This he can envision easily, much more in character with the man he has come to know: mindful of the feelings of others, but not wanting to mislead them or upset them. Dean would want to set him straight while still enforcing that _Father Novak_ is important to him. 

He just doesn't know if he can bear to look in Dean's face and keep his own from showing the crushing defeat he's sure to feel in that moment. He wants to prolong the fantasy world he lives in, the one that includes Dean: in his life, in his future, in his bed.

His constant handling of the note has softened the crisp paper, allowing it to mold to the shape of his body no matter the pocket it's in, and he finds himself fondling it idly as he sits at his desk, working on his Sunday sermon. His mind keeps drifting away from the words on the page, wondering what Dean must be thinking, if he’s considering why Castiel hasn't mentioned the note, hasn't come to see him in the month since he hid it between the pages of his gift.

In truth, he wishes he'd discovered it earlier, could see exactly where it had been hidden. Perhaps that page holds a passage that would give him a clue as to what awaits him should he go. He hadn't actually opened the book, given that he already knew the contents so well and wasn't interested in them as much as the cover. Dean mentioned that he did leather working as a hobby once, and it had spurred Castiel to talk about his love of well-bound books. He'd relived that conversation as he turned the gift over and over in his hands, stroking its surface and wishing how much he could touch Dean as intimately.

He'd started sleeping with the book under his pillow, reaching underneath it in the night to place his fingers on its surface, soothed into imagining his palm lay instead on the skin of Dean's stomach. He's sure he's not the first priest to go to bed cradling a bible, but he might be the first to close his eyes as he strokes the spine of it, imagining a different life for himself. A life where he wakes in the early dawn next to a warm body and a pair of emerald eyes, instead of the good book in the wrong shade of green.

Now he's sitting back in his chair early on a Friday morning, staring off into space, holding possibility in his hands and too afraid to face it. His eyes drift back to the task at hand, and fall upon the page that is currently open to 1 Corinthians in his everyday, seminary-issue bible: _Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth._

Iniquity. Gross injustice or wickedness, or a violation of right or duty. 

It’s unfair to Dean not only that Castiel be living a rich fantasy life at his expense, but also that he is currently ignoring his plea. That Dean reached out for something, and Castiel is not doing his duty to answer. Dean deserves better.

He sighs and throws his pencil onto the desk, running a hand through his hair before reaching out to grab the phone, dialing a number he’s ashamed to know by heart, though he’s never used it before. He clutches that heart now as it hammers wildly, imagining the way another phone rings on the other side of town.

"Singer's Salvage," says a breathless voice, and he bites his lip to keep his mind from running away with that, "how can I help you?"

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says, surprised at the levity in his voice.

"Father Novak! Hi, I mean hello, uh, what can I do for you?"

"Dean, I'm ashamed to say that I just recently found the note you left me."

"Oh! Oh, I, well I wondered, uh, what had happened to it. I know how busy you are, but you hadn't mentioned..."

"I apologize that it took me so long. I'm certainly available to come by, so I wanted to see when it would be convenient for you."

"You could...come by this evening? After six?" 

"Of course, Dean."

"Thank you, Ca...Father."

He replaces the handset into the cradle, sitting back in his chair to stare at the ceiling, eyes following a crack in the plaster to where it tapers off. The die is cast now, and he'll follow that to its inevitable conclusion as well. Clearly, the burden of his unrequited affection is too much for Dean to bear, and he respects him too much to force him to carry it any longer. He closes his eyes as he pictures that beloved face, and knows that Dean deserves so much more.

If only he wanted it from Castiel.

* * *

He’s tried to brace himself for this moment, but though the hours of the day passed by at a leisurely pace it feels as though it's come too soon. Castiel is still not ready as he drives to the salvage yard at the edge of town, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that they ache. 

Dean lives in a house adjacent to the property, all of it left to the Winchester brothers when the man who raised them retired and left town before Castiel came. He's never met the younger brother, Sam, who went to California long ago for college and never came back; Castiel has never pressed Dean for where their parents are, but he's gleaned enough to know that it's a sore subject. 

He knows that Dean had a woman who lived with him until recently, but apparently that relationship ended and he currently lives alone in the house. Castiel is grateful there won't be anyone else to witness his disappointment, that he'll only have to school his features for one person until the time he can retreat and be alone with his sorrow.

He pulls his worn Lincoln Continental onto the winding dirt road that leads back to Dean's house, and sooner than he would like he's parking behind the black beast of a Chevy that Dean drives. He sits for a moment, listening to the ticking of the engine as it cools, and then forces himself to exit the car and walk up the steps to the door, where he knocks loudly.

"Dean? It's Father Novak."

The door opens and Dean gives him a smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he gestures for him to enter, closing the door behind him. Castiel has never been here before, so he tries not to stare at his surroundings as he follows Dean into a room that looks like a library. 

"Won't you sit down, Father?" Dean says, gesturing to a couch under the windows. Castiel hesitates for a moment before moving to sit on one end, keeping his feet flat on the floor, his hands splayed on his knees to hide their shaking. Dean leans against the desk, hands in his pockets as he looks at the floor but doesn't speak, so Castiel clears his throat as he wonders where to begin.

"I apologize again for not getting your note in a more timely fashion. You should not have had to wait so long for my counsel."

"Counsel. Right." Dean looks torn about something, rubbing the back of his neck, and Castiel feels a cold trickle down the back of his spine. Is Dean mocking him? 

"Obviously something is weighing on you so much that you couldn't even speak of it in church. I'm here to help you now, Dean, however I can. I hope it's not too late." He swallows, trying to be attentive but not stare as he waits for the shoe to drop.

"I'm finding it difficult to put it into words. I thought, well, I thought you might already _know_ why I asked you to come."

"I see," Castiel says, closing his eyes for a moment before staring at the floor, fighting to keep emotion out of his voice as he continues. "Did you wish to speak to me about something that is considered inappropriate?"

"Yes," Dean exhales in a low whisper, and Castiel nods briefly as he decides to just barrel on, rip off the bandage as it were.

"Is it because of me?" Castiel asks, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor.

He hears Dean push himself off the desk and walk slowly across the room, four firm steps that bring his shoes into Castiel's line of sight, inches from his own feet. He wonders, idly, if this is the moment where all his fantasies are destroyed, if Dean will strike him in anger, call him names as he vents his disgust. He wonders if it will make it easier to get over Dean, if he has to bear the brunt of his fist.

He's unprepared when Dean kneels at his feet instead, and is shocked into eye contact. Dean's eyes are filled with fear and hope, tangled together with something else he can't quite define.

"Castiel," he whispers. "Everything is because of you." He reaches a hand up to touch Castiel's cheek, and out of the corner of his eye Castiel can see that hand shaking before it makes contact, tentatively stroking along his cheekbone. He reaches up to clasp Dean's face in his hands, the slightly stubbled cheeks rough against his palms, and fulfills the first of many fantasies by rubbing a thumb along Dean's lower lip.

Dean is kissing him before he's even registered the movement, his rough hands sliding up Castiel's legs to grip his thighs and push them slightly apart so he can move between them. Castiel reacts without thinking, threading one hand into the back of his hair and wrapping the other around his shoulders as he deepens the kiss. It's wild and fierce, and everything Castiel was fearing he'd find here is swept away by the liberal application of Dean's tongue.

He feels hands grasping at his hips and then he's being pulled off the couch onto Dean's hard body as they both fall back to floor, where they roll until he's flat on his back, and Dean moves slightly to the side as he pulls back to stare at him. 

"I want you so much," he pants. "From the moment I saw you, I wanted you." He leans back in to suck on Castiel's earlobe as he runs a firm hand down his ribs, then down a thigh, before moving back up to palm at the rapidly growing erection in his pants. Castiel's breath catches in his throat as Dean groans and presses his own hard length into Castiel's thigh.

"I've been dreaming of you, Dean," he says throatily, feeling teeth rake lightly against his earlobe as he thrusts his hips up, chasing more friction from the hand that cups him. "You can't imagine all the things I've thought about you."

Dean moves to hover above him, pressing their cocks together, and even through the fabric of their pants and underwear it feels amazing, better so when spreads his legs a little wider and grabs Dean's ass for leverage. 

"Why don't you show me, _Father_?" he says with a smirk, rolling his hips as Castiel throws his head back with a gasp of pleasure. Dean lowers himself to one elbow and places his other hand on Castiel's hip, angling him just right as they move together. He devours Castiel's lips as they sweat and strain against each other, frotting on the floor. Castiel is embarrassed to find himself teetering on the edge so soon, too soon: he wants Dean to stop and yet never stop, wants to fly over the precipice but also stay here flirting with the edge of it forever if it prolongs this feeling.

Dean's lips move to the column of his throat, but he's panting heavily now, murmuring into Castiel's ear as he thrusts against him. 

"Let go for me, Cas, please, I need...I need you to let _go_ so I can follow," and Castiel is gone, seeing stars as his release takes over. He grabs Dean's ass tightly as he follows with a shout, rutting into Castiel as he chases his own release, and then everything goes still and quiet except for the sound of their panting breaths. 

Dean moves off to the side but pulls him close, leaning their foreheads together. Castiel feels surprised and stunned and sated all at once.

"Castiel," Dean says, cupping the back of his neck with one hand, stroking along his jawbone with his thumb. "I want to do more of that. I want to do everything with you. Will you let me?"

"Of course, Dean." 

Dean leans in, stroking Castiel's bottom lip with his own before he pulls back and looks at him.

"Let me take you upstairs."


End file.
